


The Tall and the Small

by petofi



Series: The Pajama Game [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Drinking, First Meetings, Fluff, Height Differences, M/M, Prompt Fill, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petofi/pseuds/petofi
Summary: Fill for thisprompt"Theseus is a bloody tree. 6ft 5 at least. Percival hates being the shorter one, except for when he's being wrapped up in the other man's arms, then (and only then) he's the perfect size."





	The Tall and the Small

 

When they first met, the trenches were bursting with stranded battalions leftover from a disorganized retreat. Lieutenant Percival Graves had lost his unit, or his unit had lost him. Either way he was sure that his Captain would have some heated words for him when he managed to rejoin them. His undercover work in the no-maj army often forced him to step a bit out of bounds when it came to orders and his no-maj captain was rarely pleased with his performance. 

The sky had darkened and the shelling stopped and Percival just wanted to lay down and rest for a few hours. In the chaos of battle, armies and men became hopelessly mixed together. Wizards and no-majs from both sides of the Atlantic mingled and were shuffled into fighting units. It was different than what Percival was used to. He had never spent so much time around those who didn’t know of magic’s existence. It was quite exhausting to be so guarded all the time. He wished he could do a warming spell, but with men packed so close together it was unlikely to go unnoticed even if he did it wandlessly. He trudged through the narrow passage of the trench, tripping over soldiers in the dark and cursing under his breath. No one wanted to light a fire with the enemy so close. 

“Watch it,” admonished a sleep gruff voice when Percival tripped over a pair of legs. He tried to catch himself on the side of the trench as he unbalanced, but where there should have been a wall of dirt there was only air. Percival fell sideways and landed on someone who made a literal “oof” sound at the impact.

“What in Merlin’s name!?”

“Shhh!” Percival shushed. He’d found that these British wizards cared little for keeping a secret. “Don’t give us away!”

“Wizard then?” the voice asked amused.

“Quiet!”

“And American.” 

A pair of hands found Percival’s shoulders and roughly lifted him off of the speaker’s chest and deposited him to the side, though there wasn’t room enough to push him off completely. They were in a foxhole dug out of the side of the trench. It was just deep enough for Percival to curl into, but the stranger didn’t seem inclined to contort himself into the small space and left his legs dangling out to be tripped over. 

“Cold?” the man asked. 

“What?”

“You’re shaking.” Percival felt the man’s hands again on his arms, now rubbing up and down to create a warming friction. The dirt wall at his back suddenly seemed even colder in comparison. A warm hand found his face in the dark. “Your skin is like ice.”

“I’m always cold,” Percival shrugged. 

“Here... just....” They shifted awkwardly in the small space and Percival found himself almost on the man’s lap; a solid warm chest behind him and long arms wrapped around his front. This stranger was tall and broad and Percival fit perfectly against the warmth of his body. It was the most comfortable he had been in months. 

“How’s that?” The stranger’s voice was directly beside Percival’s ear. 

“Better. I still can’t feel my toes.” 

“Merlin’s pants, you are finicky,” the voice muttered. “Just go to sleep.”

Percival shifted a bit to use the stranger’s shoulder as a pillow. He pulled his knees up and let them fall to the side as he curled into the man’s embrace. They fell asleep until dawn when a rather loud shout woke them both. 

“Graves! Graves, get your ass out of that foxhole!”

It was a moment before Percival managed to untangle himself from his long limbed companion. He felt his face flush as he realized what they must have looked like. Mortification made him avoid looking at the other man. A few soldiers nearby watched in amusement as Percival stood to attention before his captain. 

“Unit’s moving out. Get back in line on the double!” the captain jerked his head in the direction Percival assumed he was meant to go. His unit must have holed up at the other end of the trench.

“Yes, sir!”

“And stop getting lost!”

“Yes, sir!”

As Percival hurried away he heard his captain address the man still at ease in the foxhole.

“Captain, I must apologize for my lieutenant.”

“Not to worry. We’ve all been getting mixed up in the confusion...”

Mercy Lewis, Percival cursed. He had been cuddled up to another officer all night. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than cuddling with an enlisted man. Both scenarios were equally embarrassing. He quickly found his unit and they teased him good naturedly about getting lost. Percival was just glad they hadn’t been there to see where he was found. 

*

After the war Percival was formally introduced to his foxhole companion. The ceremony for the Wizarding War Memorial took place in London in a hall crowded with soldiers from Britain, France and the United States. Most of the wizards were officers or decorated war heroes, so Lt. Percival Graves seemed relatively unremarkable in comparison since his work in the war effort had been a bit more undercover. He had been sent in with the enlisted men as a wizarding agent on the front lines. It was clandestine work that he was good at; breaking curses, deflecting spells, keeping the no-majs safe from magical weapons. 

Nothing he had done had been flashy enough to warrant much attention and so he mingled at the edges of the room while the more famous wizards took to the center. 

“Graves!”

Percival turned and saw Colonel Thompson beckoning. The Colonel stood beside a ridiculously tall man with reddish hair and a splatter of freckles across his nose. Percival walked over with a polite smile.

“Graves, have you met Captain Scamander?”

“I don’t believe so, sir.” Graves held out his hand to the tall man and introduced himself. “Percival Graves.”

“Theseus Scamander,” the man replied and grasped Percival’s hand in his own. “We have met actually.”

He didn’t elaborate and Percival tried to place him with no success. “Are you sure? I think I would remember the height if nothing else.” 

“I was sitting down at the time,” Theseus grinned. “And we weren’t officially introduced. But I remember your captain shouting your name very distinctly the next morning.”

It couldn’t be, Percival thought. Much to his mortification Theseus threw him a wink and then turned to Thompson to continue the story.

“We met on a cold night in a foxhole. Luckily I was there to keep him warm.”

“Hm?” Thompson’s brow furrowed a moment and then his mouth turned up in sly understanding. “Oh!”

“No, Colonel, it wasn’t like-“ Percival began as he felt a flush crawl up his neck.

“Don’t fret about it, Graves,” Thompson slapped him on the back with a grin. “There’s nothing wrong with a little intermingling amongst the allies. No wonder he was so keen to speak with you. I’ll just leave you two to get reacquainted.”

The innuendo was clear in Thompson’s tone and Percival knew his face had turned unattractively red. He spun angrily to Scamander and was surprised to find him standing much closer. It was galling to have to look up into that smug face.

“You let him think that we-“ he broke off in embarrassment.

“You are the most uptight American I have ever met,” Theseus mused. “I know the muggles get twitchy about two men finding comfort in each other, but amongst wizards it’s common enough.”

“It’s not about being men,” Percival ground out. “It’s - now he thinks we -“

“Come on, it was just a joke!”

If Percival could get any redder he would have, though from anger or embarrassment he didn’t know. “I didn’t even know your name!” he hissed. “How does that make me look?”

“Ah, well,” Scamander said and now he was starting to look sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You make a valid point. I apologize.” Then he smiled and dipped his head with mock gallantry. “I didn’t mean to throw your virtue into question.”

“My “virtue” is none of your concern,” Percival replied icily. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He meant to push past Scamander and huff off to the other side of the room, but Scamander stepped in front of him. Percival realized that his back was now to the wall and a press of bodies hemmed him in as everyone shifted to the edges to make room for the dancing. Scamander leaned over him. The man was obnoxiously tall.

“No, wait. What can I do to make it up to you?” 

“You can stop being so tall!”

Scamander looked very serious for a moment as if he were actually considering it. He bent his knees a little to lose a few inches and his mouth twitched. His eyes were anything but serious. Percival tried to keep the grin from forming on his face, but when his eyes met Scamander’s neither of them could contain themselves. Scamander burst out laughing. Percival let out a quiet chuckle. 

“I like you,” Scamander said. “You’re cute.”

“Don’t be stupid. I think I’m actually older than you.”

Scamander pursed his lips and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re small. Small things are cute.”

“I’m average. Anyway, compared to you everyone’s small.”

“True. But you’re cuter than them. Shall we dance?”

They weren’t the only pair of wizards on the dance floor, but they were the pair that best fit together. Percival Graves was exactly the right height to fit into Theseus Scamander’s arms. 

*

It was a few years later when Percival Graves became one of the youngest Directors of Magical Security MACUSA had ever seen. Theseus took him out to celebrate and they ended up a bit tipsy, though witnesses later described it as completely plastered. They stumbled back to Percival’s apartment knocking over far too many trashcans and shushing each other all the way. 

“You,” Theseus swayed slightly in the lamplight as he watched Percival attempt to magic a pile of garbage back into its bin. Wandless magic, however, required a great amount of coordination and control, both of which Percival was severely lacking at the moment. His haphazard hand waving merely sent the bits of broken crockery, rags and vegetable peels in opposing directions. A banana peel hit the lamppost and slid sadly down toward Theseus’ shoe. With far slower reflexes than he normally boasted, he jerked a few feet back to avoid the aimlessly flying bits of refuse.

“You… are the mosh adorable thing I ever sheen,” Theseus slurred. 

The hand waving stopped and Percival looked up with the shining eyes of the happily inebriated. “Tha’s soooo nice to say.” The trash plopped to the sidewalk as he tripped the few steps to Theseus and caught hold of his sleeve. “Come home wi’ me.”

“S’where we’re going already.”

“Good. Le’s go.”

And they continued down the street arm in arm. Getting the key into the apartment door was tricky, but Theseus had far more experience with functioning while drunk and so took charge of getting them into the apartment, divesting them of coats and shoes and setting out two cups of water. Then they fell onto the couch and stared at each other. Percival was soft and boneless and inexplicably happy. He had reached a level of drunk that he rarely let himself get to.

“Say more things,” he said. He grabbed a fistful of Theseus’ suit jacket in a gesture that would have been aggressive if not for the sappy smile that accompanied it. 

“More things,” Theseus repeated dutifully.

“No. Nice things 'bout me.”

“Your hair is sho black, beautiful black,” Theseus squinted his glazed eyes affectionately. “An’ shuch pretty nose.”

Percival touched his own nose in awe and crossed his eyes to try to see it. 

“Can I kiss it?” Theseus asked. He leaned close and his whiskey sour breath huffed out in a warm gust. Percival began to nod vigorously, but the movement made him dizzy and he planted a hand on the back of the couch to steady himself. Theseus was ducking down with pursed lips, hunching his tall form inward to press his lips to Percival’s nose. 

“Wait,” Percival warned. “I don’t feel g-“ 

And then he vomited into Theseus’ lap. 

When he woke up the next morning he thought he had been hit by the cruciatus curse. Maybe more than once. His eyes were crusted shut, there was the tangy taste of bile in his throat, his limbs felt like deadweights and his head throbbed. A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked back and then moaned as the movement only caused further pain.

“It’s just me,” someone was saying. “Here, drink this.”

Cool glass touched his lips followed by wonderfully crisp water. After taking a few sips he had the courage to pry his eyes open. Theseus crouched by the side of the bed and regarded Percival with a fond expression.

“What happened?” Percival asked as vague recollections of bars and trash bins began to surface.

Theseus grinned. “You are now the Director of Magical Security. To celebrate we both got hideously drunk and you brought me home with you.”

When Theseus stood up Percival noticed what he was wearing. Or rather, that he was only wearing a sleeveless white undershirt and a pair of familiar looking pajama pants that were far too short in the legs and looked a bit tight around the thighs. Why was Theseus wearing Percival’s nightwear? 

Percival sat up a little too fast and checked himself over, seeing that he was wearing only his undershorts and the pajama top that matched those particular bottoms. He swallowed, not quite remembering how they ended up so underdressed and sharing a pair of pajamas. 

“Did we….?”

Theseus looked at him curiously at first, but then noticed the way Percival was staring at their attire. 

“What do you think?” he leered and raised his eyebrows suggestively. Then as Percival blushed Theseus let out a laugh and sat on the other side of the bed. “No. Nothing happened. I tried to kiss you, but you threw up on me.”

“Oh, Mercy Lewis!” Percival groaned and hid his flaming face in his hands. The hazy memories were returning; Theseus steering him toward the washroom, strong arms firmly around his waist; the incredibly non-seductive way they stripped out of their stained clothing and how Percival insisted Theseus take at least half the pair of the already laid out pajamas in reparation for ruining his suit. 

“I apologize again for that. I don’t usually drink that much. And I should have found something more comfortable for you to wear.”

“We were far too drunk to go rifling through your wardrobe. And it’s cute that you lay out your pajamas on the bed each morning. All is forgiven. I get the feeling you don’t let yourself lose that iron control very often.”

“No,” Percival sighed. He slumped back into the bed, still tired. Theseus sprawled out next to him so he turned to his side so they could face each other. They stared at each other as they had the night before, now no longer blearily drunk but wretchedly hungover. 

“Why don’t you look as terrible as I feel?” Percival asked.

“I’m more used to it,” Theseus responded casually. With care he reached out and pulled Percival to him, slotting the smaller man into the spaces between his legs and beneath his arm. His chest was the perfect pillow for Percival’s head and his elbow bent perfectly around Percival’s waist to hold him close. 

“I know I said it when I was drunk, but I’m going to say it again now that I’m sober,” Theseus told him seriously. Then his face split into a wide grin and he pecked a kiss to the top of Percival’s head. “You are adorable! You look so put together; the mugs in your cupboards are arranged by size; your books are alphabetized by author. You’re wound so tight and then BAM! You spring loose and it’s all cuddles and dancing and pajama sharing.” Theseus sighed happily. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Except maybe we should be sober,” Percival suggested.

“Okay. And next time let’s share a pair of my pajamas.”

*

When they met again they finally shared their first kiss, Percival standing on his toes to initiate it. They met many more times over the next years and when they couldn’t meet in person they corresponded with inky words on cream colored paper. 

The most important meeting, however, took place on a cold drizzly day. Percival was quiet, pale; still shaken up over being held hostage by a criminal madman. He had been well hidden, found by a rescue team four full days after said madman had been taken into custody. Two days in the hospital being rehydrated and monitored for lasting curse damage. One week of giving statement after statement in a little interrogation room, repeating his story, reliving his ordeal again and again as suspicious wizards listened silently and waited for him to slip up and say something incriminating. An hour of standing in his home for the first time in almost a month, his apartment had been picked over with a fine tooth comb by his own investigation team. 

Three knocks on the door. Percival opened it hesitantly and sagged when he saw that it was Theseus. 

“Theseus,” Percival said quietly.

“It’s alright,” Theseus whispered. He stepped forward and opened his arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

He pulled Percival to him knowing how perfectly the other man would fit into his embrace.


End file.
